


Bitter Buttercups and Keen Kairosclerosis

by undertalefa



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Child Abuse, Depression, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Transmisogyny, Violence, nonbinary chara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-31 20:01:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13982286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undertalefa/pseuds/undertalefa
Summary: Kairosclerosis-n. the moment you realize that you’re currently happy—consciously trying to savor the feeling—which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste.Or alternatively: The first fallen human’s story(the first chapter is purely for establishing a story, though it can be skipped to move onto the more “canon” stuff. i just wanted to have a background as to base chara’s personality on.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Prequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13963971) by [Draikinator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draikinator/pseuds/Draikinator). 



> this is an idea i've had to write for a long while, but reading "Prequel" by Draikinator finally pushed me to get started.
> 
> honestly, i don't think is going to end up being a particularly long story, as i'm still focused on my main fic "Permanent Smile", but i guess i'll see where it goes? it's pretty different from my usual style of writing (at least for me it seems that way) so i hope it comes out alright.
> 
> anyways, thanks for taking your time to read this! this first chapter is about chara, so even though their name isn't said, you can know it's them. 
> 
> kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated! thank you so much!

You’re a bad child.

It’s something your mama always told you, especially when she came home smelling like the taste of something bitter. You didn’t like it when she would get right up close in your face, breathing out the putrid fumes from her mouth into your nose, slurring her words as she talked. Well, not talked. It couldn’t even be called a conversation. Most of the time she yelled. Screamed. She told you she never wanted to have you and that you were a mistake. The sting of her words burn even more than you inhaling her drunken scent.

Your mama had started to become engulfed in that horrible scent more and more often, so much so that it always lingered on her. You can’t remember what she had smelled like before. You’d like to imagine she had a scent of cotton candy and chocolate- oh how you love the smell of chocolate- but you don’t remember a time like that. You just like to imagine.

Sometimes you imagine what your dad looked like. Mama always cussed him out, calling him a good for nothing asshole who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself. You don’t know what some of those words mean, but when mama uses them, you’re too scared to ask.

Other times you imagine what it would be like to grow your hair out long. Mama says you can’t though, boys don’t do that. Boys don’t get to grow their hair out and wear pretty clothes like girls do. You think about it. You don’t really want to be a girl, but you definitely don’t want to be a boy either. Mama gets mad when you even mention anything around that idea though, so you keep your thoughts to yourself.

One time, mama caught you in your room putting a flowery clip in your hair. You’d found it on the ground outside your school, and nobody was looking for it, so you took it. You shoved it away in your school bag in the front pocket. That night, you had taken it out hesitantly. Mama never said you couldn’t, but you had the feeling she wouldn’t like you putting ‘girly’ clips in your hair.

When you took the clip out, in the darkness of the night, you brushed the grime off of it from it being on the ground, and held it in your hand. Eventually, you slipped in into your hair, which at the time was just long enough that the tips would tickle your chin from time to time. You looked at yourself in the mirror, hair brushed out of your face, and smiled. You looked real pretty, you thought. 

Though, mama came in the room for some reason, and she saw you staring at yourself with a giddy look on your face. She looked really upset. She had grabbed you hard on the arm and pushed you on the ground, eliciting a small yelp of pain from you. Her breath had that bitter smell to it, which didn’t surprise you.

(Later that night, she shaved your head. She wasn’t careful and by the end, you were bleeding in some spots. She didn’t seem to care.)

You tried to grow your hair out again, but promised mama that you wouldn’t do anymore things like what you had done with the clip. She said stuff like that, stuff like that was shameful, and she’s nice for letting you off lightly. With your promise, you were allowed to grow your hair out again. Your mama still cuts it when it gets too long though. You wish she’d let you grow it out, but you figure that’s what you get for being a bad kid.

Your house is pretty dirty. And also pretty small. Mama always says to be grateful for what you have though. You wonder if she’s happy with what she has. But then you think, she probably isn’t, because she has you. She always says how much easier her life would be without you, that it’s a wonder she hasn’t left you in that alley besides that gas station you often visit. You feel really lucky that your mama decided to keep you. You don’t want to have to live by yourself. That doesn’t stop you from feeling guilty though. 

One day, you’re washing the dishes (as mama makes you, for in her words it’s ‘the least you can do’) and your hand slips on the sharp steak knife as you clean it. It feels like a pinch, and you stop what you’re doing to stare at your soapy hand. There’s a faint red mark that’s across your palm, and you watch with a perverted satisfaction as the blood pools out in little crimson dots. The blood blends with the water on your hand, and it forms a pretty watery red liquid that glides down from your palm, to your wrist, to the tip of your elbow before dripping into the sink. Your hand stings, and you recover from your stupor in order to dry your hands, and grab yourself a bandaid from beneath the kitchen sink. That night, when you go to bed, you remember the scene vividly in your mind. 

Mama said bad children need to be punished, and you’re a bad child. 

You’re less careful with the silverware every time you do the dishes now. You don’t go out of your way to be unsafe, but if you cut yourself accidentally again you find it fills you with a twisted satisfaction. It feels… good? and bad? And your not sure what you’re feeling, but you’re pretty sure you deserve it either way. Eventually you purposely grab the knives too tightly as you put them away. Your mama doesn’t say anything if she notices that you seem to have a constant supply of bandages on your left palm.

Your mama brings home a new guy. You immediately don’t like him. He sneers at you when he comes in, commenting “I did’n know ya had a kid.” to your mama, who responds with, “Dont worry ‘bout him. He won’t get in the way.” 

He’s pretty ugly you think. He has a rugged beard and an oval face with a crooked nose. There’s a scar beneath his right eye, and you’re kind of scared of what he got it from. You don’t know what your mama sees in him. Though, when you say that to her, she gets mad and says you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, and that he has a real nice personality. You doubt that. He doesn’t seem to treat her very nice. 

Mama leaves you alone pretty often now. There’s usually food in the fridge, and when there isn’t… well she’s usually not gone for too long. You’re pretty sure at the most it’s usually a week. You don’t know what she’s doing out there with her guy friend, and you don’t want to know. When she does come home, her eyes are red and she looks sad, but when you try and ask her why she never tells. She also always smells strongly of liquor. That what you learned that foul smelling substance is. You overheard mama and that guy talking about it in a conversation. Mama says good kids don’t listen in and eavesdrop, but you’re pretty sure that now you’ll never be a good kid. You’ve done too much wrong. 

Mama’s gone for a week and two days before she comes back this time. You don’t see her first, but hear her and that guy shouting at each other outside the door to your house. They’re both saying pretty nasty things. You shudder in your room as the front door slams open, starling you a whole bunch. You peek your head out, kind of scared of what’s happening. Mama usually fights with her guy friend, but it seems like there’s more anger than there is regularly. 

What you see is your mama, red in the face, shouting and pushing the man, with him shouting and pushing back. They don’t seem to notice you, which you’re perfectly fine with. What’s scary is when the guy pulls out a gun from the inside pocket of his black coat.

Mama told you about her own gun. She said if anyone ever tried to break in, you gotta scare them off with it, and if they don’t leave, you fire it. You remember her teaching you how to shoot the small pistol she keeps hidden in her bedside drawer. It’s one of the better memories you have with her.

You’re scared. You’re shaking where you’re standing, legs trembling as you watch the scene unfold before you. Your mama looks scared too. The man has the gun pressed up right to her temple, and she looks like she’s about to  
cry. You haven’t seen your mama cry in a real long time.

They both still haven’t seen you, and you duck your head back in your room before you do. You gotta go get mama’s gun! You don’t know how much time you have.

You’re kind of now grateful for your small house, as it makes getting to mama's room easier. You race over to her draw, and pull out the gun, already knowing it’s loaded and the safety’s off just in case of situations like this.

You start to make your way back into your room, but there’s a pounding and buzzing in your ears and your thoughts are scattered, and what’s going to happen? You’re scared and anxious and terrified and you don’t know what to do because mama just said to scare the intruder, but this isn’t that situation, her life’s in real danger!

You make your way back into the room somehow, head still beating with the blood pumping brought your veins because of adrenaline. It feels almost like a dream. When you take a step to see what’s going on, (you still can’t hear, there’s a constant ringing in your ears now) mama’s now down on her knees and begging and pleading with the man. 

You must have made some sound as you shifted your weight, because the man looks over to where you’re standing, his cold slit eyes boring into you. He first locks his gaze on your face, and then locks his gaze on the gun quivering in your unsteady hand beside you, and he looks nervous now which you think is good. But then it’s not good, because you see him tighten his resolve and push his finger down on the trigger of the gun pointed at mama, and you point the gun at him. 

The first shot echos, blood spewing the wall behind your mama and spreading everywhere as she collapses in on herself. The second shot fires not even half a second after, sending the man falling to his knees and clutching his chest where a dark stain is growing. He’s dropped the gun and it lays on the ground next to him.

“...M-mama…?” Your croaky voice whispers as you run over to where your mama's face down in her lap and her blood, and there’s so much blood.

“Mama?!” You try again, louder, but she’s not waking up and you don’t know what to do. “Mama please, you gotta wake up! I promise I ain’t gonna be a bad kid no more! I’ll do whatever you want! Please wake up!” You know your mama's not the best person, in fact, there were times when you hated her outright. But, she’s… she’s dead? It’s all confusing and scary and you don’t know what to do now because mama was always the one who told you what to do.

You hear a grunt behind you, and look over at the guy who’s still clutching his stomach and you feel a burning rage within you. He did this. He killed your mama! 

Your fists clenched so tight around the pistol in your hand that your knuckles turn white, and you come up to him, placing the cold tip of the gun against the side of his head. He has the audacity to mutter “P-pleasd d-“ but you cut him off before he can finish with a loud bang, and blood sprays from his mouth and his head and it’s on you it’s everywhere.

You sit down. You sit down in a puddle of your mama’s blood as her warm body turns cold beside you. The gun falls to the ground in your weak grasp. You sit there with you mind blank for at least a solid five minutes.

It… It has to be a dream right? This couldn’t have just actually happened right? Just a sick nightmare where you wake up in a cold sweat and you’re mama isn’t there to comfort you, but she’s there and alive. Maybe this is a perverse fantasy desire and dream of yours that you live out in the killing of your mama because subconsciously you don’t like the way she treats you.

The most terrifying thought however, is that this is real, every single second of it, every single splatter of the crimson liquid on the ground. It feels fake but so, so real at the same time and then you realize something.

This is what happens to bad kids. Bad kids who do bad things have bad things happen to them. This is your punishment. This is what you deserve. Bad kids don’t get good lives. That’s not how it works. Your mama warned you, but you didn’t listen. This is the consequence of not heeding her words.

It’s not funny in the slightest, but you find yourself laughing hysterically, your fingers swirling around in the pools of blood, staining them red. You must be mad. You know you’re insane. The sight of the massive amount of blood around you sickens and excites you at the same time. How messed up is that?

You’re a bad child.

You don’t know how long you lay there, in what was the warm blood of the bodies beside you. It’s been long enough though that it’s stuck and started to dry on your clothing in gross, gooey clumps that disgust you from just looking at them.

A siren blares through the air. You’re not sure how long it’s been audible, and you just didn’t hear it, but now that you do, you get up. You don’t feel in control of your actions. Your body moves, and your mind is along for the ride. 

You stand up on shaking legs, quickly running to the back door of the house, as to not be noticed if anyone is pulling up outside. You don’t even take time to grab either gun. You don’t want to. You don’t think you can handle that. Though, again, you’re not sure if you can even handle anything right now.

What are you doing? You’re running. Your chest burns and the cold air entering your lungs feels like a blazing inferno, but you don’t stop. Your legs grow tired, and you trip on the branches and brambles in your path, cutting your face and legs and arms on many sticks jutting out in your way. 

You don’t know where you’re going. You find yourself fleeing somewhere where the ground gets steeper and steeper with each step, and the shadows from the trees grow darker and darker around you. You run and run and run and run and you want to stop because your body is aching and you don’t think you could run anymore but you do. No sound registers through your ears. Not the stamping on branches and the crunching of leaves as you trudge your way through the forest. You don’t really see what you’re doing either. Everything goes by in a blur.

Your eyes register a deep hole in front of you eventually, and you pause looking into it. Before you know what you’re doing, you step forward and lean over the edge. You’re a bad child. You don’t deserve to live after the sins you’ve committed.

You think you can hear your heart beating throughout your whole body, and it blocks off all your other senses. You don’t know what controls you at this point, your mind, your body, but you jump into the darkness and fall.

You fall, and fall, and fall, and this is it, isn’t it?

This is how it should’ve ended a long time ago. Before you had a body count. You should have killed yourself when you had the chance.

Your mama was right. You’re a bad child.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t really have much to say lol
> 
> hope you like the chapter!

You open your eyes and your head hurts, and if this is what being dead feels like, you’d almost rather be alive. Your throat feels dry and your body aches all over. The first sense you regain is sight, but it’s way too bright so you close your eyes shut tight. The next is smell, and your nose is filled with a sickeningly sweet aroma that reminds you of the flowers you’d pass by as you walked through town. You actually don’t mind the powerful odor, as it’s so much better than the alcoholic breath of your mama.

Your mama. Just thinking about her hurts your head. 

You try and open your eyes again, squinting and looking down. There’s golden flowers lining the ground beneath you, accompanied by a fair amount of blood you don’t know the owner of. As soon as you see the stained flowers though, your mouth taste like metal, like if you put a penny against your tongue. Your hands and your body and your clothes feel grimy and gross, caked in dried blood. There’s also the fresh blood on the ground and on your leg where your pants are ripped. It’s shiny, glimmering in the light from above your head.

You look up, cringing at the brightness from above. You can’t see anything. Where are you? You’re dead most likely, but why are you here? Shifting your weight onto the palms of your hand, you push yourself up into a sitting position, grimacing in pain as you do so with a sharp sting in your leg. Your head spins and the corners of your vision go black and fuzzy and you feel like you’re going to pass out. The vertigo soon passes though, and you notice that you’re surrounded by mountainous pillars that are covered in ivy. They’re crumbling at some parts, and they tower over you threateningly, like mama when she was about to punish you.

The rest of the what you can assume are walls of some sort, are too far away and too out of the light for your blurry vision to focus on. You have a feeling that you’re not going to be able to stand up if you tried. You pick your hands up in front of your face, holding them out in front of you to inspect them. They’re red and dirty and scratched up, and you just notice how much they hurt. You’re pretty sure you can’t feel pain when you’re dead. At least, that’s what mama had said. 

Maybe you didn’t die when you feel down that gaping hole. Maybe this is the bottom. But then that means everything that you remember is true and you caused it and there’s proof all over you. You’re alive and you shouldn’t be because mama’s dead and that guy is dead and you’re not and that’s not fair. You don’t want to live, no, you don’t deserve to live when your mama doesn’t.

You’re angry and hate bubbles inside you. You’re angry at that man for shooting mama and yelling at her and causing all sorts of trouble. You’re angry at mama because of the way she treated you, and how she died on you. You’re mostly angry at yourself though, because you caused this whole thing to begin with. If you hadn’t pulled the gun, maybe that guy wouldn’t have actually shot. Maybe mama would still be alive.

But the real majority of the anger at yourself comes from the fact that you don’t care as much as you should that mama’s dead. You know she wasn’t a good person. Good people don’t raise kids as bad as you. You know you’re only upset at her death because of the shock of it and the loss of the predictability of your life, not the person themself. 

The thing is though, you don’t regret pulling the gun and shooting the guy. He deserved it. He was scum. And you figure, your mama was too, and so are you. You’re all scum. Horrible, horrible people. You all deserve to die. The world is a cruel, twisted place inhabited by human beings, the worst species to ever walk the earth. 

You're interrupted from your thoughts and your head perks up as you hear a voice. “It sounds like it came from over here…” It’s a kids voice, and they sound like they’re musing to themself.

There’s people down here?! The thought alone makes your head spin and your tummy twist into knots. Whoever it is, they’re going to find out what you did.

There’s movements behind one of the pillars along the far wall. You shrink back, making yourself as small as possible. It hurts a little and you gasp softly, but too loud as it seem the figure who belongs to the voice heard you.

A small head peeks out behind the pillar and… yeah. You’re dead. There’s no way you’re alive with a creature like that staring at you. You try and laugh but it sounds like a strained wheeze.

“Oh!” The thing, you don’t know what to call it, maybe you’re hallucinating this whole thing, it looks at you, “You’ve fallen down, haven’t you?”

The thing walks over to you, and you get a closer look at whatever it is. It’s face is big and round and fuzzy and it has small fangs poking from what looks like it’s mouth. It extends a furry hand at you with the underside having pads that remind you of a dogs. It has beady red eyes that remind you of your own. Mama always called you the ‘devil child’ because of the color. You think she’s right. But then maybe this this is another ‘devil child’ and it’s going to hurt you.

The thing’s eyes wander over your body, and you feel exposed and threatened. He’s no doubt taking in the amount of blood all over you.

It’s hand still out, it says hesitantly, “... Are you okay?”

It comes closer to you and you can’t move because you’re frozen in place, not knowing what it’s going to do. It grabs your hand lightly, making you flinch a bit. The hands is soft and fuzzy, and had you not been shaking in fear right now you would have enjoyed the feeling of it against your skin. 

“Here, get up…” It said sweetly, but you take it as a command, and you’re scared of this thing so you comply.

Your hand shakes in it’s hold, and your whole body quivers from hurt, and exhaustion, and fear. The thing grabs your other hand, and pulls you up. As soon as you’re on your feet you feel like you’re going to fall down, legs wobbling beneath you. The thing holds your hands in it’s big paws and it helps steady you a bit though. Why is it being… so nice? Shouldn’t it have left you here to die- that is, if you’re not already dead. 

It’s eyes are kind and warm as you look into them, and it’s staring back at you. You figure this isn’t a devil child like you, because it’s eyes aren’t cold and sharp like yours. “What’s your name?” It says, still looking at you.

“K-ka..m.. ra” You try and say your name, but your voice is still croaky and isn’t working right so it doesn’t come out right. 

The thing apparently thinks your incoherent words are your name though, so it says, “Chara, huh?” it pauses in though for a moment and you look away from its face, starting to get uncomfortable. “That’s a nice name. My name is Asriel.” You don’t bother to correct it, seeing as it ultimately won’t do you any good.

Your gaze still lingers on the flowers beneath your feet, and you start to feel light headed. You feel a tight squeeze on your hands and you realize that ‘Asriel’ is talking to you. 

“-id you hear me? Chara?” You try and nod your head, but that actions makes your head spin. “You don’t look like any monster i’ve seen before…”

Monster? You wouldn’t have ever thought this thing would call you a monster, but then again you suppose you are.

“Wait!” It perks up, grip on your hands getting tighter in it’s excitement, “Are you a human?! Mom told me about them! Golly this is so exciting! I’ve got to go get mom and dad!”

In the things excitement, it let go of you, and without it’s support you’re not able to hold yourself up. Your legs shake and your body hurts and you let yourself fall back into the ground covered in flowers. 

“Oh, i’m sorry! Uh…” It looks conflicted on what to do. “You’re hurt pretty bad, aren’t you…?”

It’s voice sounds so sympathetic, so caring and sweet and you have no idea why someone would ever talk to you like that. It’s not blind, it saw you. It must have seen your eyes.

The thing kneels down to where you fell and brushes the hair out of your eyes in a way that tickles your forehead. Oh right. Your hair. No wonder it didn’t see your eyes, you hair was covering them. Now it will know. Now it will leave you alone to die.

“That’s a nasty cut on your face.” It says surprisingly, beginning to sit down next to you.

“W-what…?”

“Right there…” It takes a fuzzy forefinger and traces it lightly over a spot on your head.

You flinch in surprise and the slightest bit of pain, and immediately the thing apologizes. “Oh, gee, i’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“What a-are you…?” You ask, stuttering out your words as you voice shakes, “W-why are y-you being so, so n-nice to me?”

You’re confused. It seems like a cruel joke that you don’t know the punchline to. You’re not even sure if you’re dead or not! Hasn’t this thing seen the obvious signs that you’re a bad kid? Doesn’t it know that you shouldn’t speak to devil children?

“Well… I’m a monster!” Why would it call itself a monster? Can’t it see that you’re the monster here? “And why am I being so nice to you…? What do you mean?”

You’re about to say something in response, but instead you take a deep breath and let out a cough that makes your whole body shudder. And then you cough again, and again, and now you’re doubled over with your face inches from the golden flowers beneath you. You feel a weight on your back, a paw, gently patting your back in an effort to help.

You close your eyes tight and try and hold in your coughs so much that your chest hurts. You close your eyes and think that when you open them, you’ll wake up in bed and this will all be a bad dream. Mama’s going to be there to yell at you and hit you, but it’ll be okay because she’ll be alive, and you won’t be stuck in this god awful situation that you caused.

When your eyes open though, you’re only greeted with that bright golden color of the flowers, and in that moment you can feel yourself give up. If you had any will to live left, it’s gone. You’re alive, at least you’re pretty sure you are despite the creature next to you, and you don’t want to be.

“Hey… Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths… It’s gonna be okay!” You hear the voice of ‘Asriel’ whispering next to your ear.

That doesn’t help calm you down in the slightest, in fact it makes you feel even worse that this thing has to comfort you when you don’t deserve it. You feel the sting of tears burning in your eyes in a way that makes them itchy and red when you try and wipe your face. One tear falls, than another, and another, until your full on bawling in this thing’s lap as it gently rubs your back with its padded paws.

“I-i-...” You hiccup, “W-why…?”

The thing doesn’t respond to your incoherent babbling, and you feel pathetic for letting yourself get in such a state. You shouldn’t lose control like this. Mama always told you not to lose control- even if that was hypocritical of her.

Your crying gets mixed with coughing again, and you’re kneeling over the flowers already tinted red, splattering them with more crimson liquid that spews from your mouth and dribbles down your chin as you cough. 

“You’re hurt really bad…” The thing says, and your only response it to laugh, though it doesn’t really sound like you’re laughing, just a wheezing sound mixed with your crying hiccups and your coughing that gurgles with the blood now in your mouth.

You’re hurt bad, huh? So what? You want to die anyways. You deserve to die. And apparently the thing, ‘Asriel’, mutters something to you that you don’t actually hear and gets up, so it must think you’re worthless too. You try and watch it walk away, but your vision is going dark around the edges again, and your head gets foggy when you try and look anywhere but down at the flowers.

Your leg hurts and your hands hurt and your head hurts and your throat hurts, and everything hurts and you’re all alone and just want it to end. And you think it will end, if only after a few more minutes of suffering, which you fully deserve. Eventually you stop coughing, if only for the fact that your body is too exhausted to even handle you coughing, but apparently that’s not the case for tears, because you’re still crying. Can’t you just die already?!

But no, in a way you’re certain you deserve this horrific death, to atone for your sins. For all you have done wrong- and that’s a lot of things. You don’t even want to try and list all of them. And you know once you die (please be soon please be soon) you’ll go to hell where you belong, where mama always told you you’d go.

You wonder if your mama felt the same way before she died. When she got shot. But she probably went much quicker than you did, so you guess it’s not a fair comparison. 

You somehow manage to tear your eyes away from the flowers. Your head doesn’t hurt much anymore, in fact you barely feel any of your injuries. Like they’re there, but numb and pushed to the back of your mind like they’re of no importance.

You see a figure emerging from the distance, who looks like ‘Asriel’, but you figure it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. Is this what everyone feels before they die? You’ll probably never know. You don’t really care now. You’re just glad you’re finally getting what you want and deserve.

Asriel comes closer to you and kneels down, but you can’t really be sure because your visions fuzzy and your heads not working and you’re still not sure if you’re hallucinating or not. It’s moving it’s mouth but you don’t hear anything, only a loud ringing in your ears that you’re only now becoming aware of. You smile at it. It doesn’t seem very happy though.

Asriel turns and looks at something in the distance, and you see the shadow of two huge things and you have no idea what they are. They look scary but that doesn’t really matter because nothing does anymore. 

The last thing you see is Asriel’s worried expression before you close your eyes and black out for hopefully the last time.


End file.
